


lock and key

by lonereedy



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Craig is gay, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic AU, Nomaj, Tweek has his rainbow badge pin, it's a bit dark in the beginning, key!Craig, lock and key AU, lock!Tweek, magic blocking medication, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonereedy/pseuds/lonereedy
Summary: [ CREEK WEEK 2020 | DAY TWO: MAGIC/VIDEOGAMES ]Tweek Tweak was born overflowing with magical ability. Craig Tucker was born with none.What will happen when they meet...?
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 21
Kudos: 66
Collections: Creek Week, sp creek server does creek week 2020





	lock and key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelotusflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/gifts).



> We've reached Day Two!!! :D
> 
> I had no idea what to write for these prompts. Once again, I left it too late and wrote this whole thing on the day XD It was inspired by a screenshot of Tweek sleeping in the pandemic special. The one where he sleeps like the dead with one hand stuck out...
> 
> Another huge thank you to everyone in the discord cult (surprise! I wrote another fic!) who are sweetest creek family ever. I love you all!!! <3
> 
> This fic is dedicated to the lovely thelotusflower, who has influenced us all with Tweek's rainbow pin and must be rewarded!!! :)
> 
> I've tried writing in a different style for this one, and although it didn't go in the direction I expected, I'm in awe that I've finished something!
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

Tweek’s mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton wool balls, cheeks stretched out like a hamster. The unpleasant feather duster tingling stretches all the way to his partially erupted wisdom teeth, and although he can’t smell anything _bad_ , he feels the halitosis is back with a vengeance.

If only he could move his toothbrush faster. He blinks in slow motion, and every time his eyes re-open, the toothpaste has dripped even further down the side of the bristles and started splattering blotches of blue and white against the porcelain sink.

Maybe dad duplicated the meds again? He didn’t count them, too busy running his tongue against the wire on the back of his bottom teeth and puzzling at why the metallic tang has all but disappeared.

He’s felt like this since dinner, and is sure that his night time routine is starting earlier after yesterday’s freak out.

A couple of extra pills to keep him at bay. Tweek understands. He wishes they would tell him beforehand, just so he could at least expect his world to trickle like honey off the back of a spoon. He’s relaxed, perhaps too much, but the only pressing thing on his mind is to get the toothbrush into his mouth so he can go to sleep.

It’s satisfying when he makes it, massaging his teeth and gums, brushing away the wool and coffee stains, feeling like a weight has been rolled off his shoulders.

His routine is almost finished.

The hand cream is rose scented. It’s mom’s favorite, and only the best for her little guy. He slathers it on, ever so slowly, robotically, all over his hands and wrists, paying the most attention to his right one as always.

Two thin circular lines wrap around his right wrist, as if a pair of bracelets have been fastened too tight, easily showing up against his paper white skin. The marks can’t fade away fast enough now they’d had to up _the routine_ to every night.

Tweek understands.

It’s all for his benefit, after all.

Mom hovers outside the bathroom door in her fleece dressing gown. “Tweek? You ready for bed, sweetheart?”

His lips quirk as his mind remembers how to form words. He presses out an _Mmmmmm_ , proud of how articulate it is, even though it’s just a sound. The words are there, trying to catch up, but it’s too fuzzy, and he’s too _slow_.

He’s a beat too late anyway because she’s already opened the door and has an arm around his skinny frame.

He wonders how many other fifteen-year-olds are still tucked in by their moms?

He’s half a person on these damn pills. Maybe not even that.

“I’ve got your hot water bottle, if you want it?” she asks as they walk together, Tweek solely focusing on placing one foot in front of the other.

He used to love their abilities when he was younger. How mom could fill a hot water bottle with regular, cold water and heat it up to the desired temperature between her hands. How dad would make multiple copies of his Lego bricks to play with, feeding his ever-growing curiosity with forming 3D structures with his bare hands.

They’d sit outside in the back yard: Tweek playing tanks versus dinosaurs inside his self-made, colorful, Lego-brick playhouse whilst his parents relaxed on their sun loungers with cups of coffee that dad would duplicate and mom would reheat if they got too cold.

Things were simpler then. Tweek knew his parents were, to put it bluntly, the lowest of the low when it came to magical abilities, and they had expected their son to be the same.

God, he wishes he was the same.

It’s when they reach his bed that he eventually nods, raising his head quickly enough to give himself a spell of vertigo. He detests being treated like an infant, and can’t help the scowl on his face that mom ignores. He doesn’t know if he prefers the panic over this, the choice was made for him, but right now, all he wants is the satisfying warmth of his dinosaur bottle settled against his chest.

He wants to be able to get some sleep and wake up back in his head.

Mom’s soft voice floats by his right ear, “Hand, Tweek.”

He frowns, letting his right-hand flop like a salmon desperate to make it upstream out of his bedsheets, something he’s become accustomed to. The leather is cold against his skin, and he wishes that mom’s ability could affect something other than liquids.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

The chain clangs against his bed frame.

“ _Mmmmmm,_ ” he grunts, content with the warmth spreading over this stomach, and prays that whatever dosage he’s on is high enough to keep his abilities in check tonight.

*~*~

Craig tries to stifle a yawn, his muscles still aching from yesterday’s workout. He feels like he’s fading in and out, lethargy spreading from his core to the tips of his guinea pig-slipper-covered toes.

“Eat up, kiddo,” Dad ruffles Craig’s bedhead, immune to the bird his eldest child gives in response.

Mom’s on the early shift, so it’s just the three of them at breakfast: stacks of nearly-burnt toast and orange juice.

He looks down at his plate to find it empty; his second slice of toast has disappeared into thin air. None of the Tuckers have the ability to make things invisible, and there’s only one culprit Craig can think to hold responsible. A high-pitched giggle from above confirms the mystery of the missing slice.

“Don’t be a dick, Tricia,” Craig groans, looking up at the ceiling to find Tricia hovering a safe distance away, legs folded and her free hand flipping him off. She takes a big bite out of Craig’s breakfast and he looks over to find dad sniggering.

“Oh, I’m glad _you_ find it funny,” Craig barks, reaching for another slice of toast in the middle of the table.

He wishes he was boring and normal like his family. Mom and Tricia can levitate and dad’s super strength is befitting of his gigantic frame. His parents thought Craig would inherit the same abilities, and so it came as a huge shock to find out that he didn’t have _any_. He was a _nomaj_ , a rare diagnosis these days, and it made him some-what of a celebrity.

Dad wasn’t happy at first; Craig was his little man, his carbon copy in attitude if not in looks. But slowly, he came around; he learned to love his son regardless of whether he had an ability like everyone else or not.

_I want to be proud of you too. I like nomaj Craig. I love you._

“Hurry up or you’ll miss the bus,” dad warns as he downs his own juice, almost shattering the empty glass with the force he uses to throw it into the dishwasher. “Your mom’ll kill us all if you get tardies _again_.”

Tricia beats Craig to the family bathroom, her abilities allowing her to move quicker, so he waits in the hallway, slumped against the wall. A beaming ten-year-old Craig flips him off in a photo opposite. It was taken a couple of weeks before the test that confirmed he was a _nomaj_ rather than a late bloomer.

All Craig ever wanted was to lead a boring life.

“Your turn,” Tricia singsongs as she steps out of the bathroom. He furrows his brows as he shuffles in to brush his teeth. “Save the _smile_ for your adoring fans, slowcoach!” she teases as she levitates down the hall.

Stupid Tricia doesn’t realize how lucky she is to be normal.

They bid farewell to dad, who has to drive in the opposite direction for work, and Craig shoves his hands deep into his pockets as he follows his perky younger sister to the bus stop.

School classes are taught by ability, allowing children to meet their peers and strengthen their skills together. As the only _nomaj_ , Craig sits in with the low ability kids who don’t have a defined type, and even they stare at him as if he’s an alien.

“Dude, dude!” Clyde screams into Craig’s ear as he boards the bus and takes the seat saved by his closest friend. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Craig yawns, narrowly avoiding a jab in the stomach as Clyde reaches into his backpack to pull out a cereal bar.

“You know!”

The way he tucks into it with such a satisfied expression has Craig’s stomach rolling, “Ugh, tell me you didn’t _alter_ that.”

“Sure did, bro! Gotta have my breakfast taco! I’m a growing boy!”

“You’re gross,” Craig turns away and looks at the other kids on the bus. Some of them, sitting normally and chatting with friends, look just like him. But others are already using their abilities to change their outfits or mess with their seatmates.

“Dad told me you’re getting tested again, but as, you know,” he swallows the last of his bar and lowers his voice, “as a _key_ , dude.”

Craig flinches. He knows his appointment’s tomorrow, but already the icy tendrils of fear escape his stomach and wrap around his heart, squeezing like an octopus summoned by Bebe.

You don’t take a test like this lightly. If positive, he can be partnered off with a suitable _lock_ , and Craig doesn’t want anyone holding him back.

Clyde bumps his arm gently, clearly noticing the drop in mood, and produces another bar. He offers it to Craig and softly whispers, “I can make it taste like ice cream?”

*~*~

Tweek blinks a few times, his eyes slowly adjusting to the morning light streaming in through the blinds and projecting the shadow of his coffee cup pyramid across his bedsheets. He already feels more awake than he was at dinner, and surveys his room for any sign of destruction.

There’s a tiny, wet puddle below the window, barely large enough to please a toad, but everything else seems in order. He sighs in relief. It was a quiet night, which explains why he feels more rested than usual.

Mom taps on the door, “Can I come in?”

“ _Rrr_ yes, I’m awake,” he shouts back, itching to be free from his necessary confine.

If anything, she looks more frazzled than Tweek does; she hasn’t straightened her hair or put on any makeup. She has the key in her hand but she’s shaking as she releases the cuff.

She cradles Tweek’s wrist, pressing soft kisses over the bruised flesh.

“I can’t keep doing this, baby,” she chokes up a little, and Tweek feels like he should offer her some comfort, “let’s hope they find a match today.”

He wraps his arms around her, knowing that the stress of having to physically restrain her child is taking its toll. He’d much rather be a _nomaj_ than a freaking abomination.

Mom dabs at her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Do you need anything from the safe?”

Tweek stumbles off his bed to check. He heads straight for the underwear drawer and growls when he comes up empty. “Damn gnomes! Cartman’s ward did _jack shit_! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him.”

“Clean undies and then breakfast,” mom nods, running her hand through Tweek’s tangled curls. “Pancakes today. Put on your lucky socks.”

At least the gnomes aren’t interested in his Lego Batman socks. Tweek is grateful for small mercies. He hits up the bathroom first, dazed that he can move like normal, even quicker than normal, now that the meds have worked their way through his system.

He flicks his left wrist to activate the shower and whilst it warms up, he decides on his shampoo for today. Currently it’s coconut, but Tweek wants something lighter and fruitier. _Watermelon_ , he thinks, and he gives the new formula a big sniff.

As much as he detests his abilities, when they work, they take off so much pressure.

“Clean pair outside the door,” mom yells as Tweek steps into the shower and massages the watermelon-scent through his pampas grass mane.

He’s more than ready for a big breakfast when he makes it downstairs. Dad’s sat at the table; a cup of coffee is pressed to his lips to hide his guilty smile.

“Morning, son,” he says gently, “last night was as calm as a yoga teacher in Whole Foods.”

Tweek pours himself a hands-free coffee and glares at him. “How many?”

“Tweek, you understand that we can’t keep-”

“ _How many?!_ ” Tweek shouts; the lights flicker and the curtains flutter. Mom nearly misses catching the pancake she flips in her pan.

Dad’s serene smile doesn’t falter, “There’s no need for that, Tweek,” then, as he makes a copy of the pancake on his plate, he adds, “nine.”

“I’m supposed to be on six,” Tweek huffs, “no wonder I felt like a zombie.”

Mom places his plate in front of him, piled high with pancakes that dad didn’t have to duplicate. Tweek thanks her, then coats them excessively in maple syrup. There’s no use talking to dad about the rights and wrongs of messing with his medication.

If all goes well today, he might not even need it anymore.

*~*~

Craig looks up at the nondescript building where his fate will be decided. It’s just him and dad, and it’s their first trip back to the center in five years.

“You ready, Craig?” Dad asks, throwing an arm around his shoulders with a little too much force, and Craig has to step forward to stop himself from the kissing the sidewalk.

His first kiss is going to be with some cute guy, not some dirty asphalt.

“No,” he deadpans, and he feels dad’s booming chuckle shake his entire body.

He’s worried about the result either way. A ‘no’ means nothing will ever change, and he’ll be stuck as an oddity forever; a ‘yes’ will change everything. His parents have tried to reassure him that the result doesn’t matter, but Craig still wishes he didn’t have to find out.

The receptionist checks them in and tells them a doctor will be with them shortly.

“What if I hate them?” Craig worries aloud, rubbing his sneakers against the linoleum to produce a rhythmical squeak. “Or they hate me?”

Dad gently clears his throat, “We don’t even know if you’re a _key_ , Craig. One thing at a time.”

The posters all around the waiting room show pictures of happy couples, all different ages, abilities, ethnicities and genders. The familiar _lock and key_ symbols are on every single one. Craig always thought that the _lock_ had the worst of it. Without a _key_ their abilities could go out of control, their bodies unable to contain such a large amount of magic.

A _key_ , as far as Craig’s aware, is meant to unlock the blocker on the _lock’s_ ability. It’s in all the pamphlets he’s read, and although he doesn’t completely understand the nature of it all, he’s thankful that _if_ he gets a positive reading today, at least it’s for a _key_.

He’s about to argue his point back, when suddenly it feels like the air is ripped from his lungs. He tips forward off his chair, and it’s only thanks to dad’s strong grip on his arm that he’s saved from collapsing to the floor.

“Craig? Craig!!” Dad yells something at the receptionist, but the words don’t reach him. He pulls on his chullo’s strings as his head is filled with unfamiliar, panicked wails and sounds that ebb and flow like he’s floating in the ocean, unable to swim back to shore. He wills it to stop, cries out in pain even though he recognizes – somehow, though he can’t explain it – that the pain isn’t his.

He tries to make sense of the garbled nonsense rolling about in his head, hands ghost-white as he refuses to let go of his hat.

 _“I’m listening,”_ he whispers to someone, anyone, without moving his lips.

It must be working, because the unidentifiable wailing turns into words Craig can understand; words that only confuse and worry him.

_“I’m gonna be bound and drugged for the rest of my life!”_

Craig wonders if this person can hear him, _“Where are you?”_ he shouts into the void. His very nature screams at him to help this lost soul.

There isn’t a response, but his head starts to clear. He blinks a few times, still a tad dizzy after all the echoing in his mind, and finds dad's worried face in front of him. Behind dad, a dark-haired lady in a white coat watches him thoughtfully. The receptionist must have called for a doctor.

It’s as if Google Maps has been beamed into his skull, because Craig knows _exactly_ where he needs to be right now.

“I-I have to-” he can’t get his words out; he has to move. Before he loses his way.

“Craig, son, sit down-” 

He pushes dad’s worried arm away and staggers to his feet.

“Let him go,” the doctor says calmly, and Craig’s thankful that no one tries to stop him.

His heart beats in his head – no, it’s not his, it’s _theirs_ – and he quickens his pace. He has to find this person and, and, and…

_“Where are you?”_

It’s a boy.

Craig doesn’t have time to thank his lucky stars, but later… later, when he’s calm and this person is safe, he’ll express his gratitude that it isn’t a _girl_.

He slaps his hand against the wall when one of his legs gives way, pins and needles pricking at his calf, but he’s nearly there, just around the corner-

A figure smacks into him, a flurry of pale wheat curls and a forest green flannel shirt. Hands grasp at his arms, before Craig’s looking into exhausted steel grey eyes.

“Are you okay?” The stranger asks breathlessly, “I came as fast as I could.”

_Wait. What?_

“You-you were screaming?” Craig rests his hands on the guy’s bony shoulders, “I was looking for you?”

It’s as if it clicks then, like the sound of a _lock_ being broken open, and Craig takes a deep breath, eyes never leaving the beautiful boy in front of him, who looks just as mesmerized.

“You’re a-” Craig starts, sentence hanging in disbelief.

“Yes!” The blond cries out, full of joy, “and you’re-”

“I think so.”

The stranger – who doesn’t feel like a stranger, not anymore – wraps his arms around Craig’s torso, head resting over his chest.

If anyone else had been so touchy, Craig would have thrown a punch, but instead, he’s returning the hug with the same force. They sink to the floor, the adrenaline leaving them both now the goal has been reached, and they cling to each other with the desperation of reunited soulmates.

 _Maybe that’s what locks and keys really are_ , Craig muses, running his hand through the blond’s tangled curls.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there – time has no meaning for them right now – but when he looks into the boy’s face, admires his long eyelashes and button nose, and focuses on the words leaving chapped pink lips, he knows that he won’t be leaving this place without him.

“I’m Tweek,” the boy beams, relieved and elated, and he holds up his right hand; the skin on his wrist is rubbed raw from a magic binding cuff.

Craig knows what to do and, as if on auto pilot, he presses his palm against Tweek’s, lacing their fingers together.

“Craig.”

There’s a warm feeling spreading out through his body, a welcome presence of what he can only assume is magic; the overflow from his fated _lock_.

He has so many questions on the tip of his tongue, but before he can even begin, his head crashes into something.

“Ow, what the-”

It’s the ceiling. He’s banged his head on the goddamn _ceiling_. It takes him a second to take it in, and then he opens his mouth to scream. He’s too afraid to be mortified when only a pathetic whine comes out. He clutches at Tweek, body shaking as he realizes they’re not on the ground anymore.

“We-we’re levitating! You can fly?” Craig turns to Tweek, who is handling the situation extremely well under the circumstances.

Tweek shakes his head, biting his lip with a shy smile before he answers, “My family doesn’t have levitation abilities. I haven’t either. This is all _you_ , Craig. You’re doing this.”

Craig can hardly believe it. He’s levitated with mom before, but this is completely different. He’s using magic of his _own_. He holds out his hand and Tweek takes it, and they stare at the ground beneath them before Craig starts laughing.

He can’t help it, he’s so overwhelmed. When Tweek’s free hand wipes the tears from his eyes, his heart aches for an entirely different reason.

He’d be lying if he said _his lock_ wasn’t the cutest guy he has ever seen.

“Shall we reunite with gravity?” Tweek asks eventually, and as Craig nods and prepares to ask how exactly they do that, they float back to the floor.

Tweek rubs his thumb reassuringly across the back of Craig's hand. “ _Locks_ and _keys_ can access each other’s abilities, as long as they have a connection,” he explains, collapsing tiredly against Craig’s side. “But…there’s a lot _I_ need to learn too.”

Craig’s head’s spinning, but all he feels is content, as if the missing piece of his internal jigsaw puzzle has been slotted in.

He’s complete.

There’s just one thing he remembers he needs to do, something that he’s read a thousand times over the last week, ever since his parents gave him the pamphlet. He has to ask permission.

“Tweek,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “will you…be my _lock_?”

The smile he gets in return is blinding, and the hand still clutching his own gives him a squeeze, “I’d be honored, Craig.”

There’s a sense of mischief and adventure in Tweek’s smile. So much to learn about their new bond, their shared powers and, if the rainbow pin badge in Tweek’s shirt is any indicator, each other.

Craig can’t wait. As they walk back to the doctor and his father, hand in hand, fingers buzzing, Craig knows what he wants.

And it certainly isn’t that boring life anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I can't believe that I'm the same person who wrote that goofy/cringe shirtmates AU XD
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope this universe was even the slightest bit interesting. There are so many additional background details that I couldn't fit in to this story, but it was a blast writing it. I'm not sure if I like it or not, but just exploring this idea and turning into a fic was such an enjoyable challenge. I now need to sleep for 48 hours.
> 
> Also, I can't wait to catch up with all the other amazing fics being uploaded for creek week! Hope everyone is loving all the amazing fics and art :D
> 
> Take care and stay safe everyone! <3


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